The Coming Storm
by thesightstillhauntsme
Summary: Pursued by people who claim to own him and want him back, an escaped experimental test subject is on the run. Blessed and cursed with immense power and finding himself cornered with nowhere else to run to but his own mind, will he be able to be helped, or will he trapped all over again? Rated T for mild language, blood, and mentions of torture. DISCONTINUED, SORRY PEOPLE
1. Chapter 1: To Escape A Nightmare

The Coming Storm

_Chapter One: To Escape a Nightmare_

Running.

That, and fear were the only things dominating his mind now. There was nothing else he could do but run, and the consequences of the opposite would be too great. Not running meant certain imprisonment, a fate he considered to be worse than any gruesome death anyone could think of. Imprisonment meant going back _there_, back to all the pain and experiments. The fear at the memory of _that_ place was enough to fill his burning lungs and beating heart with enough energy to run. That fear gave flight to his escape, and drove his mind's senses to the limit.

Cut, bleeding, and scarred feet pounded the rooftop he was dashing across, and he could vaguely make out the sounds of other footsteps, getting closer with every roof jumped, every corner turned. His abilities couldn't be used until the inhibitor collar around his neck was disposed of, and there wasn't time to find something to break it off with.

The tracker chip had been rid of, but at a highly-paid price. His arm was now limp from blood loss, hanging loosely at his side, swaying like the proverbial pendulum of death at every movement he took. He looked down at the cut on his arm, and fought the urge to vomit at the sight of it. Getting the two by two inch metal tracking device out of his arm had rendered it to a sickly white blood-soaked piece of meat, with a sizable hole cut into the inside of the appendage.

Shaking himself out of the painful memories before they started to consume him, he looked up and cursed himself a fool a thousand times over. The next building to leap was too far to jump by foot, and without his abilities, he knew he stood a snowball's chance in hell trying to clear it. He turned around slowly at the sound of scurrying feet, and came face-to-mask with his pursuer.

The ninja-like man skid to a stop just across from him. This man was well built, big and bulky. He looked like type of man who could crack a two-ton boulder in between his pinky finger and thumb, and dust off the debris like it was nothing afterwards. The ninja tracker was fitted with a simple black shirt, covered mostly by a combat jacket filled with numerous devices, all of them designed to capture, contain, and kill (if necessary). His leggings were black as well, with combat boots to match the same color scheme as the other items of clothing. But what caught his attention was the weapon the tracker held in his hands. It was a shock stick capable of rendering anyone touching it immobile for more than a few days, leaving the victim with calcified bones. The electrocution it delivered was excruciating, and he would know. He had felt it before on numerous occasions. All times from the hand of the one currently holding the weapon. He looked at the masked face, searching it for any signs of emotion, anything that might betray his next move. Cruel, cold eyes met his own pain-filled ones.

All the while contemplating the distance that was before him, he knew he was going to have to jump, or at least make an effort to reach, the next building. In a last-ditch effort, he threw himself backward; praying to whatever God was out there that he could somehow make it.

At that moment, Lady Luck herself seemed to turn away from him, turning his surprisingly good leap of faith into a full-fledged nose dive into solid concrete. Instinct caught up with him at the last second, turning himself that his shoulder took the weight of the blow, and then rolling to avoid any terrible damage. A good technique, but not infallible, as an audible _crack_ was heard, as well as his sharp cry of pain. A loud noise to the side caused him to look up from the newly gained injury, and he could dimly make out in his failing vision two smashed footprints denting the ground, right where he had just landed a second ago.

Backing up into a corner of a wall and a trash-dumpster like a cowering pup, he blinked in an effort to clear his vision, but to no avail. Relying on his adrenaline-fueled senses to see for him instead, he could scarcely make out a person, probably his assailant, coming ever so closer. He closed his eyes, tears starting to form. His freedom was so close, it had been right in front of him! Yet only to be taken away, just as he was about to be.

Preparing to let the darkness take him as it had all those years in confinement, he turned his head as a bright red and white beam broke through the stillness of the air, carrying a sound of burning anger with it, perhaps someone yelling, but maybe that was just his fevered senses. As the obscene darkness threatened to take over, he could vaguely make out sounds of battle, and war cries could dimly be heard. He caught glances of a man in black, red, and yellow, with what looked like lasers shooting out of some high-tech device attached to his head. He could see a teenage girl with pale white skin dressed in a similar outfit jump in from the shadows, then take off a black glove and touch the man on the neck before growing a glowing red aura around her eyes, and start shooting similar beams of energy out from them as well. The man with the device advanced on the ninja, who was acting both confused and annoyed that his prey was being protected by unexpected interference.

The girl ran over to him, looked over his huddled figure with still-bright red eyes, and gave him a look that he barely registered as pure horror. The last thing he remembered before blacking out completely was the girl shouting to someone on the side, and telling him that everything was going to be fine, that he was safe now. Falling into the black nothingness of his mind, he wondered if he was truly, completely, going insane.

* * *

_12 Hours Before_

The place that he was in was something out of a horror film. His arms and legs had all sorts of tubes and pipes sticking into him, and each was pumping a murky green substance into his system. The confine of his prison was something of a small, high-tech refrigerator. The cold kept his arms and legs from moving, while the substance that was being driven into him finished the job, making him nothing more than a complacent vegetable. Not only that, but should his body ever be able to reject the systems and he be able to actually open his eyes, his only view of the outside world was a small observation slit, which offered a glance into nothing but a bright white room.

Something that his captors had not intended on, however, was that with the absence of his sight, he learned to use his other senses to the extent that he could hear outside of his little prison, and even down the hallway. He could vaguely make out what a couple of his jailors were saying, and he was sure they were talking about him. If only he could listen in, he would be able to make out a few words...

"Is the subject reacting well to the stimuli? Are his systems well in check?" Said a first voice, coming from his left.

"Yes, but there are complications with the programming. I fear we will have to abandon that project entirely..." remarked a second voice, this time sounding out from the right.

"We were not able to scavenge anything from that initiative? Surely something could be made to work, and the programming did cost us a great deal to try." The first voice sounded surprised and crestfallen at the same time.

"I am aware of the costs and time that was lost, but the results were too... erratic, to say the least. The subject was able to act with the extreme precision and years of training belonging to that of a master combat instructor as was initially provided, but we weren't able to control the subject's brainwave activity when in that state." The second voice had started to sound a little annoyed that his _subject_ wasn't able to live up to previous expectations, and began to trail off in conversation with the first voice, both of them getting smaller, and smaller, until their voices were gone.

_How dare they_?! How dare they call him a subject! He was a person, a living, breathing being with thoughts, a personality, a name, the whole nine yard stretch! His blood began to boil at the thought of him making them pay, making them say his name a thousand times over before making them beg for mercy! He could barely make out the sound of a heart monitor picking it's pace up, beeping faster and faster.

Yes! He would make them scream for mercy, make them say his name over and over, make them regret the fact that they ever called him _subject_, force them to speak his name!

But... what was his name?

The heart monitor slowed down, before turning almost completely back to his normal heart rate. He was completely confused now. He had just vowed to make his captors know his name, _fear_ his name, but for all he knew, he didn't have one. Had he been in here so long that he had forgotten his own name? How long had he been a prisoner, a _subject_?

_"Fifteen years, two hundred fifty-nine days, approximately 11 hours."_ Came his mind's immediate response. Whoa, that answer came a little too quick. He shook his head in wonder. So... it had been that long. And all this time, they had been keeping him here, under lock and key, inside a metal box filled with a murky substance someone had called _cellular paralysis bio-fluid_. They were pumping God knows what into his body, hacking into his brain, sifting through his head, cutting his body open regularly, and for what?!

The heart monitor started to pick up its pace again.

He didn't even know why he was here! He didn't even know where _here_ was! Hell, he didn't even have a _NAME_! His thoughts were in turmoil, tossing and turning in waves, emotions crashing against one another in a pointless war against his own mind. He couldn't take it anymore. No, he _wouldn't_ take it anymore! This was the last straw. He wasn't going to take anymore beatings or cuts, shots or stabbings, vivisections or burnings, and he certainly wasn't going to be treated like a _subject_ anymore!

The heart monitor was in a frenzy, showing his heart going at speeds of 320 beats per minute, far beyond that of a normal heart rate. He opened his eyes and felt the rage build through him like a wild animal, but was only half-aware of the raw power surging out of his body, melting the ice that had built up around him. He prepared to blast his way out of his little prison, but stopped himself in his tracks. In order to get out of his box, though, he was going to have to get hurt. A lot.

"_It's okay,"_ his mind told him forcefully. _"They won't be able to hurt us after this. Not anymore."_ He let electricity surge through him, seep out of his body into the box. His body hesitating at the last second, his mind decided that enough was enough, and took over. Activating purely on instinct and programmed control of his newfound power alone, he let all of the energy that had been had built up over the past fifteen years out. What happened next, he would never be able to describe with words to another soul what he felt.

Thousands of volts of electricity coursed through out the box, turning it into a power source any battery would be jealous of. Sheer power traveled up and down his body, the pain nearly shredding his sanity, ripping apart old scars and causing small amounts of blood to ebb lightly from them. He opened his mouth and let loose a bloodcurdling scream that let loose all of his pain, rage, anger, fear... all of his negative emotions at once. It was a call that only a truly devastated spirit can create.

The commotion caused three pairs of footsteps to enter the room. One of them raced to his prison and tried to get a hold of the top, to try and hold it down. Lashing out angrily with a flash of energy, he could hear the man's cry of pain as he went flying through the air and collided with something on the opposite side of the room. Focusing his power to the door of his refrigerated gaol, it blasted straight off its hinges with the force of a two-story battering ram. The numerous tube and pipes connecting to him were blasted away with little more than a flick of his finger, spraying their contents all over the place. Creating a barrier of lightning and electricity around his body and levitating it, he raised himself out of the confines of his cell, and took a moment to revel in the feeling of freedom. Rearing his head up to the sky, he raised his voice once more, and let a new cry take place in his throat.

Yelling, screaming, wailing at the top of his lungs, he let his power build back up again before reaching his hands up above his head, and releasing all of it into the air. The result was a vortex of lightning that shot up towards the ceiling, which stood no chance against the electrical might that was produced. Releasing his voice from service, he let his emotions run through him and set them into his powers, which were continuing overhead and into the sun-kissed sky, turning the swirling vortex into a marvel, condensing it into a pure, brilliant bright blue and white beam of light. It continued to travel upwards, before dispersing among the clouds. Looking down at the people in the room, he saw two men and a woman, petrified with terror at him. Releasing the power at his finger tips, the beam slowly faded into the heavens. He started to raise a quivering hand cracking dangerously with energy, and watched as they ran screaming from the room.

Turning to the closest wall, he sent a wide bolt of electricity into it, creating a wide hole in it upon contact. Moving the energy around him forward, he blasted himself over to the newly created entrance and zoomed through it, destroying everything in his path in a sudden need to see the outside world again.

He was getting close to the end, he could _feel_ it. He was so close, just one more door till he was out in the open, just one more guard to pass. Blasting the unfortunate guard with enough power to short out a small city, the human was thrown to the opposite end of the room, creating a small dent on the wall where he hit. Letting his power go, he walked the last few steps to the exit on tender and unused feet. Pushing a button on the side of the door, it opened slowly but resolutely, before swinging open entirely. The sight was beautiful, and he almost thought he was in a dream back in his box.

The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, and he could make out the dim outline of a city in the failing light. Dressed in a simple thin light blue shirt that stuck to his blood-drenched skin along with leggings that were the same, he started out the door, beginning to power himself to make the journey to the city easy. His lifeblood seeping out of age-old scars now reopened, he glided upward with a faint blue aura crackling around him. His elation, however, was short-lived. A sharp sting could be felt closing around his neck, prickling him before shorting his powers out. He turned sharply to see that the guard that had been blasted was pointing some sort of launcher in his shaking hands. Knowing now would be a good time to get lost, he tried to fly out, calling upon his abilities. When they didn't respond, he tried again. And again. Truly afraid now that he was powerless, he ran as fast as his newfound limbs could go.

He kept running like this, and kept running until he reached a small creek. Taking up a rock lying near the water, he gouged out a tracker device that was under the skin in his arm. He had found it a while before, while running from the facility, which he found was in the middle of nowhere. Gritting his teeth hard enough to break them, he continued with the knowledge that once this was done, they couldn't follow him.

Once he had finished with the grisly task, he looked down at his handiwork. His arm flowed a steady stream of blood, and part of his muscle was visible.

_"This'll make a fine addition to the rest of my scars,"_ he thought grimly.

Picking up the blood-coated rock once more and readying himself to relieve the collar around his neck, he stopped short as heard a noise behind him. Whirling around and holding the rock as a weapon, he silently scanned the darkness for any signs of danger. Closing his eyes and tilting his ear towards the darkening woods behind him, he let his senses see for him, in replacement of his eyes. Listening intently, his instincts took a hold of him, and he suddenly shot away from the current place that he was crouching, just barely missing an electrified net that was shot at the place he was just moments before.

His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. This assailant dared to try and contain him with his own element? They were as naïve as they were cruel and arrogant. Turning in the direction of the now-lit city, he spurred himself into a full-fledged sprint, dodging rocks and trees along his path. Gaining numerous cuts and scrapes in his flight, he ignored the little pain that they tried to give him. The half-completed programming told him so. It was telling him what to do, when to dodge, when to jump, when to roll from a serious fall. And right now, it was leading him, guiding him towards the direction of the city. Telling him that if he could reach the city, he could lose whoever was pursuing him. He ran off toward the bright lights of the city, his collar's own pulsing softly in the growing darkness.

* * *

_**MUHAHAHAAAA! What will happen next? Will our hero get a name? Who saved him? Why am I asking YOU all of these questions?**_


	2. Chapter 2: Insanity Plea

_Chapter Two: Insanity Plea… More Or Less_

He was slipping.

He couldn't tell from what, exactly, but he had it narrowed down to two things: he was safe, or he was insane. Given the circumstances, he was inclined to think the latter. After all, he was disoriented to begin with from blood loss, and his mind was still ringing from the pain that he felt inside of his prison.

Just to be sure that he wasn't going crazy, he tried to regain consciousness and open his eyes to take stock of his surroundings. Half-delirious from the pain, he slowly opened his eyes and was granted by a muddy vision of a small room lined with seats on either side, and was vaguely aware of a room up front with what looked like airplane controls.

Feeling something press onto his arm, he looked up and barely made out three blurry figures surrounding him, all of which were preoccupied with strapping him onto a table that was in the center of the room-with-seats. He could feel places of pain all over him start to subside slowly, and wondered if this was all just a dream, something to confuse him. Was this a test from _them_?

He dragged his eyes upward, both of them slow to comply. As they slowly came in focus, he could just make out the pale white skin that belonged to the girl in the alley, the one that had told him it was okay. She smiled softly to him and brushed a lock of white hair from her face before placing something on his nose and mouth. He barely registered it until he could feel gas being softly blown into it, and felt his mind begin to ebb away into his mind's black fold again. His last sight before becoming truly unconscious was the pale girl, gazing at him with sympathy and… regret? He was offered a sound coming from his ears, and he listened to what was being said to him carefully, making sure to catch as much as he could.

"Everything's going to be alright, do 'ya hear me? You're safe now," the last words particularly struck out to him like a knell.

"You're safe."

His brain drifted off, and he was out like a light.

* * *

He was falling. Figuratively, of course, but falling nonetheless. Falling into the emptiness that was becoming his mind. Looking around, he could see where his mind had become twisted, warped, and altogether changed. Where peace and tranquility once reigned in places throughout his psyche, those places had now become a product of fear and pain. Sifting through memories all throughout his head, he came across old experiences of previous escape attempts, ones that had occurred when he was small and weak. All of them had ended in failure and pain. So much pain. _They_ had told him to not run again, and as a result locked him in his little prison indefinitely, keeping him sedated as extra insurance. Completely cut off from contact for the next fifteen years, he was alone with nothing but his mind and the people outside his box to listen to. Not only had they kept him sedated, but they had frozen his box till it was nearly frozen over, effectively cutting off any chances of escaping.

Unfortunately for them, he had become stronger. He had become stronger by waiting, listening, gathering energy and power over the years. Biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike. Little had he known that his escape would be triggered by something as small as not having a… name…

The flow of memories, thoughts, and emotions started to die down, slowly returning his mind to blackness. He remembered… that he had never been called anything but _Subject_, and that was the only word that he was used to. Did he really have no name to call his own? The flow of memories had now stopped entirely, his mind pitch black nothingness. Doing nothing but staring into the empty recesses of his mind, he felt as empty as his mind actually was. He stayed like that for some time, until he became aware of multiple presences surrounding him. Unable to open his eyes from lack of energy, he listened to what was transpiring around him as best he could.

"Hurry and get that IV hooked up to him now!"

"Heart rate is thirty-two bpm."

"Are the supplies ready yet? We don't want to hurt him, especially seeing as how he has lost a significant amount of blood in both his arm and the majority of his torso."

"Yes Professor." There was an audible sigh of relief before the voices started again.

"Good, very good. Jean, if you would kindly sedate him for this, please?

"Yes, Professor," came a very feminine voice. He could feel a small pair of hands reach around his head and touch his temples. As soon as those fingers came in contact, he could hear a small sound in the back of his head, as if someone was reaching for the "off" button in his head. A second later, the buzzing stopped, as well as all of the sounds coming from his surroundings. He was thrust once more into the blackness that was his inner thoughts, but more gently this time.

* * *

It was the familiar sound of a heart monitor that brought him back to reality. Its incessant beeping had started to rouse him softly into wakefulness, bringing him back little by little from his mindscape realm.

Opening his eyes ever so slowly, he was greeted by the sight of a silvery-white ceiling, and walls that were made of a glossy metal surface. Lifting his head, he noticed that the weight around his neck had disappeared entirely. Tentative hands lifted to touch the spot where the device had been placed on, and confirmed that it was indeed gone.

_"Alright, so whoever is holding me either doesn't know what that inhibitor was, or knew what it was and is putting an obscene amount of trust in me."_ He thought wryly. The thing he was currently on looked sharply like an operating table and a quick scan of the room certified that he was in some sort of high-tech medical ward. His fear almost resurfaced in an instant, fearing that he was still in captivity, and that he was probably to be beaten for his failed escape attempt.

It was pushed down just in time, as he saw that things were definitely out of place. He noticed the smell of antiseptic, the feel of the soft table he was on. _They_ never tried to give him comfort, so he obviously wasn't back _there_.

But if he wasn't _there..._ where was he currently?

The whooshing sound of a door sliding opening behind him made him turn a little too quickly in surprise, causing a sharp spike of pain to spark across his body. Clenching his face in a tight grimace, he heard a small chuckle from whoever entered through the door.

"Heh, nice going bub. Those were fresh stitches." Was the gruff tone from the (obvious) man, who was walking towards the little table he was resting on. The door closed behind him with another round of whooshing.

"I ain't gonna change those for you if you get blood all over 'em, got that?" Looking up he found the owner of the voice currently staring at him and his wounds.

The man was very tall and muscular, with dirty black hair reaching up to curl into small horn-like ends. His face looked like it was carved straight out of a hunk of rock, with a barrel-chest to match. His arms were covered in hair, and crossed in front of said chest at the moment.

"You gave us quite the scare, bub. First we find you with too many injuries to count bleeding out against a wall, then we have to fight a black-coated ninja wannabe. And after all that, while we're tryin' to patch you up and give you blood, you just had to have the rarest blood type on this continent. You're just full of little tricks, aren't you?" Saying this like it happened every other day, the bear-like man started walking over to him, before saying something that scared him a little more that it should have.

"Got a name?"

And with that, his mind exploded.

Reaching out to the man, he shot a bolt of lightning aimed directly at the center of his torso. It hit home, sending the person flying into the door which was bashed inwards, creating a small hole in it. Fear directing his body, he walked unsteadily to the exit as fast as his weak limbs allowed. Stepping carefully over the man, he stumbled through the hole into a hallway with the same color scheme as the room he left. The fear had started to grip harder on his head, making it hard to think, much less walk through the pain. Haphazardly wobbling down the hallway, he put a hand up to a wall for support, and continued to lurch farther and farther away from the place that reminded him of the hell that he had just escaped from.

Agony was lancing throughout his head at a million miles an hour, making it hard for him to stand up. Gripping his head tightly in both hands, he lost control of his footing, and hit the edge of a wall… _hard_. Bringing his legs up to his chest, he closed his eyes tightly as he tried to ride the pain out, but it was too much for him bear. His sanity was slipping, and he knew it. The pain was growing steadily, and there was no way to stop it. It seemed like it would kill him, but suddenly, he felt a sturdy pair of arms curl around him, and lift him up. Opening slightly tear-stained eyes, he saw that the man he had shot was carrying him towards a tube with chrome doors. Too tired to keep awake, his eyes closed again, and he entered into the realm of dreams and memories once more.

His dreams had consisted of twisted memories being played over in his mind over and over. The days spent in suspension, the failed attempts of _them_ trying to hack his mind, and worst of all, the beatings that would ensue when they did. His box would be opened, and a shock stick would hit his body and deliver its payload of torture. Apparently he had a serious amount of bad luck, because his mind had chosen to replay those moments in a continuous loop around his brain. It scared him and annoyed him at the same time. He was scared because of the memory, but infuriated because of the fact _they_ had hurt him with his own element.

Suddenly, the scene in his mind changed. He was reliving the moment of his escape now. All of the pain, rage, confusion, and sadness whirled around in his head, and he saw everything again as he had lived it before. It was like some sort of sick, twisted version of déjà vu. He was now on the rooftops, then the rescue, then… her. The pale girl.

With that last thought, he awoke.

* * *

It was starting to look like he was a broken record. Open eyes, feel terrible pain in the head, close eyes, repeat. Mentally chuckling at the thought, he peeled his eyes open one more time, and was surprised to find that there was no pain arcing through his half-insane head. He groaned as he sat up, the spring mattress under him squeaking in reply.

Wait… mattress?

He looked down to find that he wasn't in that medical-lab room place anymore, but in a plain, wooden bed with electric-blue covers on it.

_"Well that's ironic,"_ he thought with a smirk.

He started to get up to the left, only to wince and gasp loudly from the hurt in his… well, his entire body. He lifted his right arm to instinctively cover his chest, only to discover more pain on a whole new level. Turning it ever so slowly to his field of vision, he was sickened by the sight that greeted him. The wound from the tracker was still there, but it was now a disgusting puckered scar reaching two inches to the sides, then another two inches down. A near-perfect right angle, and starting to grow a red hue to it rapidly.

He gave a dejected sigh and tried to fully lift himself off of the bed, only to whip his head up at the creaking sound of a cedar wood door opening to his right. Disregarding any pain that he was currently feeling, he jumped out of the bed and landed in a crouched position with his right hand encased in zapping energy, raised threateningly. Electricity sparked and danced between his fingertips, starting to create a high-pitched crackling sound as it did so, giving the impression that he was standing next to a malfunctioning power line. Raising his left arm to steady his rapidly weakening right and to create a more accurate shot in case he need fire, he steeled himself for whatever was going to happen next.

The mahogany-colored door opened fully to reveal a bald man in a mechanical wheelchair, followed closely by the same man that had helped him in the alleyway, who now looked to be somewhere around eighteen years old now that he could see him clearly, and a young woman with flowing red hair trailing down past her shoulders who appeared to be the same age as his rescuer. He took in all of their appearances, and noticed that the man that had rescued him was now wearing a simple pair of sunglasses with red tinted lenses instead of the contraption he wore before.

The programming was working on automatic, taking in everything and estimating possible outcomes. The two men disregarded his response and gave him a pair of short smiles, while the woman did the same but with hints of sympathy flashing across her features. After an uncomfortable silence, he called out in a voice that was wavering and slow from disuse.

"Where… am I? Are you one of… _them_?" came the choppy question. The man sitting in the wheelchair spoke first in a warm, comforting tone.

"You are at our institute, my dear child. I am afraid however, that I cannot answer your second question. We do not know who _they_ are, or what _they_ want." The handicapped person moved forward a small bit. Looking down at his body, he saw he was still in a battle-ready stance, and let the energy go. He watched it dissipate into blue-white wisps of smoke, snaking around his hand. As soon as the wisps disappeared, it took less than an instant, and all of the aches and agony he had been suppressing came back full force. The woman rushed to his side as he started to fall to the floor.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laden with worry. He moved his head slightly and glanced at her eyes for a brief moment, then looked away.

"Jean, Scott, help him back to the medical bay. He needs to get a checkup to make sure that none of his scars have reopened." came an order from the wheelchair-man. Remembering the place in question, his eyes widened in fear.

"NO!" he yelled. All eyes immediately fell on the now-shaking teen. Realizing he probably sounded a bit loud, he spoke again with less… fire.

"I mean… can I not go back… there? Bad memories…" The last part was spoken barely above a whisper, but a shifting to his side told him that the woman – Jean apparently – had heard him. The man with the sunglasses – Scott – now was eyeing him with curiosity, along with the man in the wheelchair.

"Alright, we won't bring you down there. Are you well enough to stand, child?" The wheeled human asked gently. Man, he was really going to have to learn that guy's name. Calling him Wheelchair-Man probably would get him a little more that annoyed.

Said man gave a small chuckle as he finished his thought. He looked at the hairless chair-bound man with surprise.

"Did I say that out… loud?" he sheepishly asked.

"No child you didn't," responded the handicapped man. "But for future reference, my name is Charles Xavier. The inhabitants of this building commonly refer to me as Professor Xavier, or Professor X. The man with the sunglasses is Scott Summers, also known as Cyclops. The woman at your side is Jean Grey." As he spoke, the Professor pointed out both of them and then leaned forward in his chair with hands laced together.

"If I may ask, what is your name my boy?" He looked down at the ground, and replied to the Professor's question.

"I… don't have one." He said quietly. A foreboding silence entered the room. It was Scott who decided to break it with a lighthearted laugh.

"Well then, we gotta get you one then!" The Professor agreed with a nod of his head. Jean helped him to his feet, and said, "Why don't we get you one right now? Would that be okay?"

He nodded, suddenly feeling a little better inside himself and repressing his sadness coupled with grief down inside him. He could hear an audible sigh come from Jean as he did so, with brought up his curiosity again. Masking it quickly, he smiled and gave a slight laugh.

"Yeah, that would… be great. I just don't know… any good ones, and the only thing I've been called in a while is…" He trailed off, leaving that sentence hanging.

"What?" Scott put his hands in a crisscrossed position across his chest.

"_Subject…"_ The thought floated around, nagging him. Pushing it away, he watched the expressions of Xavier and Jean, and he carefully masked his brainwave activity. He had a suspicion, but decided to not let it show.

"Nothing," was the oh-so-carefully planned reply. The Professor leaned back in his chair, and thought deeply for a few seconds. When he spoke he sounded for all the world like a gentle father. Not that he knew what one was, though.

"How about… Jason? Perhaps Alexander? No…" It was Jean who spoke up next, who offered another one.

"What about Vito? I think it means…life, or something like that."

"I love it." Said the newly-christened boy.

* * *

_**Uurrrrgghhhhh. This took a little while. Not entirely pleased, but it's out there now. Enjoi.**_


	3. Chapter 3: New Acquaintance(s)

_Chapter Three: New Acquaintance(s) _

"_How about… Jason? Perhaps Alexander? No…" It was Jean who spoke up next, who offered another one._

"_What about Vito? I think it means…life, or something like that." _

"_I love it." Said the newly-christened boy._

* * *

"Well then, now that pleasantries are out of the way, want to tell us why we found you with enough injuries to make even Logan shudder?" Scott inquired with a cautious tone. He knew he was probably treading on thin ice with this particular subject. In the split second that followed, he tensed sharply, should the boy go haywire, or something along that line.

What happened next was altogether totally different from what he was expecting. Instead of freaking like Logan had said from his experience, Vito simply looked down and started to shudder visibly. At first they all thought he was laughing silently, but a second glance told them otherwise.

He was crying. Not just a short, small teary-eyed moment of sorrow. A heart-wrenching sob escaped from the boy's lips, making them all stare incredulously at him. The teen that had just been crouched before them in a rock-solid battle stance, which was impressive seeing that he was in serious pain all over his body.

Jean wrapped her arms protectively around Vito, slowly helping to the ground. They sat there, Jean holding the dejected teen fiercely, and Vito sobbing uncontrollably.

The psychic sent Scott an accusing glare, before turning back to the shaking boy. Had he not seen the scars, the blood? Obviously this boy's past was more than a sore subject. From his thoughts she had read from him as they were treating him in the medical wing… he had more trauma in his past than any, and perhaps all of them combined. He had been beaten, bruised, cut open… he had no past whatsoever, and what good memories he had were ones when the misery and suffering had subsided for a small while.

Charles was staring at the huddled child before him with all of the sympathy and compassion he was capable of feeling. This was a being that had been broken, repeatedly by the looks of it. He never could have imagined that his scars ran that deep. There were always mutants with terrible pasts all over the world, but none of them could come close to this teen. And that wasn't even the most troubling fact. What worried Charles the most was that the crying figure before them was practically _radiating_ power… lots of it.

Vito was stricken with grief and agony from previous experiences and memories. As much as he was trying to push them from his head, they just wouldn't shut up and _go away_. Nagging and tugging at his emotions, he felt like the world hated him. Hated him just for existing, just for _being_. He felt a soft pair of arms come around him in a solid embrace, and returned the kindness with a sorrow-filled one of his own. Tears were now streaming down his face in a steady flow, dripping down his cheeks and dropping from his chin to the ground, leaving small wet blotches on the carpet below him.

After a little while, Scott put a hand behind his neck, rubbing it awkwardly while striking up an apology.

"Hey, kid… look, I didn't mean to… bring up a sore subject or anything. I know saying 'I'm sorry' probably won't help much, but I want to… say it anyways. It wasn't really my intention and-" Scott was cut off from any further attempts at an amends by Vito, who raised his voice. It was heavy with sadness and strain, but otherwise firm.

"No," he started. "You don't need to apologize. You saved me, and you brought me… to this place. There is no reason for you to say that you're sorry." His crying had stopped somewhat, and the shaking had disappeared completely. He stood up a little sluggishly, Jean giving him someone to lean on. Wiping his face clear of tears, soon there was no evidence that he had ever shed them in the first place. Considering that he had just been lying on the floor sobbing, the three people before him exchanged glances at one another, sharing knowing glances.

Vito noticed this, and looked at them with interest. "What?" he asked. Maybe they were thinking that he was dangerous, which was true. Perhaps they were thinking if he was crazy? That was also true. A paranoid thought hit him then.

"_What if they try to put me back?"_ His breath hitched, and his concentration on his brainwaves faltered. Dread took over like a tidal wave.

"_They're going to put me back, I know it! Have to get away…"_ Vito's mind was running in overdrive, plans of escape running rampant throughout his mind. He was just about to make a dash for the window, when the Professor spoke.

"I don't think that will be necessary, Vito." Said boy looked at the cripple in wonder. After a brief moment of 'what the hell,' the boy's thoughts switched from fear to confusion.

"_Was he… did he just…"_ Then Vito realized something. Before he asked, however, he received an answer from Xavier, but not a conventional one. There was a slight tingling thought in the back of his head, and the Professor's voice sounded throughout it.

"_Yes, my dear boy. You aren't the only one of your kind."_ The Professor smiled at the look of awe on this young teen's face. It was switching from amazement, to bewilderment, then to doubt.

"You mean… you guys… you're…" The words stumbled their way off Vito's tongue, seemingly out of place. Jean gave a beaming smile, and Scott followed suit with a big grin plastered on his face. The Professor looked fondly at the boy, who was placing the pieces together. "You're… like me?" Jean was looking like a girl who just learned about shopping, the smile growing steadily as she explained.

"Yeah, we're… What's the proper term Professor?"

"Mutants, Jean." Answered the handicap. Vito was admiring this man. Every time Xavier spoke to him or the other two in the room, he was always looking them straight in the eye. It was… he didn't know the right word for it. Refreshing? No, not exactly. Impressive? Not quite. It was something between those two, that much he could tell.

"We contain a special gene inside us, known to us as the X-GENE. This gene can allow a human to grow different types of abilities. I for example, am gifted with telepathy. I can project my thoughts, read others' and even alter memories if pushed to do so. Jean has mental powers as well. She has telekinesis, and a limited ability of telepathy, like me. Scott holds extreme power behind his eyes, enough to level a fifty-story skyscraper if left unchecked. Those glasses he wears are made of a special alloy, which retains the power behind them." The Professor paused, letting this sink in. Eyeing Vito, he took a breath before continuing.

"It would seem you have this gene as well. After all, the collar that was around your neck was designed to… pause it, in a sense. This leads us to our next question,"

"What is your gift?" Scott said, beating Charles to the punch. Jean and Charles both looked at him with annoyance. Scott looked a little miffed.

"What? You were gonna beat around the bush for a while. Might as well ask now." Jean sighed deeply before speaking.

"Right… Sorry about Scott. He can be a little… straightforward, to say the least." Vito looked at Scott with a relieved composure.

"It's… alright. At least… he is straightforward. As far as his question goes, I think it has something to do with electricity. I don't… know the details, but that's it… I think… everything's a bit fuzzy on that topic." Vito pondered his escape. Obviously it was electricity, he knew that much. But how did he do that flying thing back at…

He stopped himself as his head started to pound. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the memories that threatened to overwhelm him.

"_Bad memories, bad memories, bad memories. Don't dwell on it, don't dwell on it. Good thoughts. Freedom, the feeling of safety, the sight of… _her_."_ Feeling better from the fuzzy, blurry picture of the pale girl, he opened his now-sore eyelids. He was a little bit unnerved by the looks he was getting from Jean and the Professor. Scott just looked on in confusion at them all.

An awkward silence passed through the air then, but was broken almost as soon as it appeared.

"I think it would be beneficial to discover where you currently are. I imagine you have been wondering that for a while, am I not correct?" Charles said with a miniature smile. "Perhaps you would like to take a look around?"

Vito surveyed his face, searching with a keen eye for any bits of trickery. After a good long minute, he gave a slight nod, indicating towards the door. With a little assistance from Jean, he made his way over to the Professor.

"Alright… I suppose it wouldn't… hurt to look around. Lead the way." He motioned for Jean to let go, and raised himself to full height. It was then the three mutants had a new view of the powerful teen.

He was, to say the least, very handsome. His face looked like it had been sculpted by a master potter, with near-perfect cheekbones and a set jaw. He had beautiful raven-black hair, which seemed to shift and ripple slightly, as if he was standing in an invisible breeze. He was well-built, with a good set of muscles encasing his entire body. Scars littered him, giving the impression that someone had drawn all over him with a pen. All of these features seemed irrelevant, however, in comparison to the two orbs that were his eyes.

A deep, entrancing cerulean blue, that poured knowledge and emotion out from their center. The person before them practically _exuded_ confidence, and subtly drew attention to him, slowly becoming the focus point of the room.

However strong he looked, they soon found out that he was anything but. Falling slightly, he only stayed upright because of Scott, who noticed and was by his side in an instant. Helping to right the boy, he kept his hand around his back, ready to support if the need arose again.

Glancing at the two men and woman, Vito nodded towards the mahogany door, and they all set out to the outside of the bedroom. Jean opened the door, and gave a slight grin before motioning for them to follow. The Professor rolled through the door, and disappeared into the bright hallway outside. Vito realized just how dark it was in the current chambers, and walked a little more assuredly, hoping to get out of the dark as soon as possible.

Just before Scott and Vito stepped out, Vito stopped for a second with the older mutant following suit.

"Alright… I think I can… manage from here." Vito spoke shakily. "Thanks, though. And… I appreciate the, uh… rescue."

Scott smiled and let him go. "No problem. The Professor could feel something wrong, and he asked us to check out a small town outside Bayville. He's pretty cool like that."

"Hmmm... Noted, and again... Thank you, sir" Vito decided that now was probably the time for manners to come into place. After all, he had been rescued, tended to, destroyed part of their home, and on top of all that, he had hurt someone.

"Hey man, tell you what. Don't call me 'sir,' and I won't call you something demeaning like 'kid,' or something like that. Deal?" Scott could tell that Vito was feeling a little more than down on himself. He already felt bad for making him… cry. Jean would probably be on his case about that later. But for now, he was going to make it up to this teen, starting by introducing him to the others. Perhaps he would be happy to see more people like him.

'Perhaps' being the operative word.

"Scott, would you bring our guest out here? I believe introductions are in order." Charles' voice called form the bright hallway. Vito took a deep breath and walked side by side with Scott into the outside corridor. As they made their way, he could hear the Professor's voice saying softly, "Now, I want you to all to be gentle, both physically and verbally. He has obviously had an extremely traumatic and pain-filled past, and any questions about them could…" The announcement ceased as soon as Vito and Scott trailed out of the room. Vito was caught a little off guard at the sight that awaited him.

There were three people and a blue demon were staking out in front of the door. The demon was picking at what looked like a tail with a spade at the end. He quickly whispered something to a silver-haired woman on his right, who shushed him with a stern glare. The woman crossed her arms, then turned to Vito and gave him a warm and tender smile before nodding her head towards the two others. The person next to her right was a young girl, perhaps maybe fifteen or sixteen years old. She was pulling absentmindedly at her brown hair, which was drawn into a pony-tail at the back. The girl glanced up at Vito for a moment, before blushing deeply and pulling at her hair harder. He looked at the fourth and final being waiting for him, and his breath hitched slightly. It was her.

She was… a knockout. She had flowing brown hair that almost reached her shoulders, with stunningly white locks in front for bangs. Her skin was a pale white, like she hadn't seen the sun in days. It almost matched her eyes, which were twin grey orbs, looking like a strong clouded haze was where her eyes were. Not only did she look amazing, but it was because she consisted of many things that people would think strange that she was so beautiful. He noticed that he had been staring for a few seconds longer than he should have, and as a result she looked down at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world, following the younger girl's actions by tugging her front bangs and blushing furiously. Vito quickly looked away before his own face had a chance to redden, preserving a bit of his pride.

"Vito, I would like you to meet the rest of your rescue party. The one on the far left is Kurt Wagner; next to him is Ororo Munroe, then Kitty Pryde. Last but certainly not least is Anna Marie." Charles pointed out each person as he said their names, and then turned back to Vito. "They are mutants as well as you and us, Vito." The Ororo woman stepped forward and spoke in a deep, motherly tone that flowed like water.

"You do not have anything to fear from us, young Vito. We will do anything and everything in our power to keep you safe." Ororo smiled warmly before returning to her previous stance, arms crossed an leaning slightly to the side.

Kurt walked over to Vito, his tail swishing lightly behind him as he did so.

"Hey, I'm Kurt. But you already know that I guess, right?" Kurt asked tentatively. He had a rich German accent that played heavily on his voice. He held out a blue, three-fingered hand to Vito. "Pleased to meet you, mein Freund. I hope that we'll be able to have fun together, and… Gott, ich bin wirklich nicht gut an diesem zeug… (God, I'm really not good at this stuff…)" Vito looked with interest at the blue mutant. He was sure he had understood what he had said under his breath, but he thought nothing of it. Kurt was trying to be nice, and berating himself over nothing. What was it with these people and apologizing or feeling bad about nothing? First Scott, and now this furry, good-natured elf-looking boy? Closing the gap, Vito took the sparsely fingered hand in a firm grasp.

"Das Vergnügen ist ganz auf meiner, ich bin sicher. (The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure.)"

And with that statement, the strangeness began its rise to power.

Six of the mutants looked at him in confusion, shock, and interest at the same time, while the seventh – Kurt – just looked on with plain delight.

"Wunderbar! Eine andere person, die Deutsch sprechen können! (Wonderful! Another person who can speak German!)" Exclaimed Kurt, who gave a very pleased Vito a small slap on the back. "Niemand hier kann sie sprechen. Ha! Du bist in ordnung in meinem buch, freund! (Nobody here can speak it. Ha! You're alright in my book, friend!)"

Jean stared quizzically at Vito, like he had grown a second head. "You can speak German?"

Vito gave a small shrug. "Ein wenig, aber… (A little, but…) I'm not sure how. I just… understand it. I can understand… a lot of things. It's… kind of hard to explain. I guess it's just…" Vito paused, searching for the right word. "Instinct."

Kitty was still shocked and confused, but with interest showing through her features more and more.

"Well," remarked Kitty. "That's some pretty cool instinct, ya know?" Cue dramatic, drawn out hair flip from her.

"Soooo… like, how old are you? 'Cause if you're my age that'd be awesome. Everyone here's like, oh… about two or three years older than me. It's really annoying, 'ya know?"

Vito gave a ghost of a smile. "Sorry, but I'm… eighteen, I think. Seventeen at… the very least."

Anna looked at him with renewed bravery, and with crimson flushing her pale cheeks, gave a small cough.

"So, um… what can you do? 'Ya know, like… power-wise?"

Vito was a little taken aback. Her voice was a faint southern drawl, which for some reason, seemed to fit her perfectly. With a small brush of her white locks out of her eyes, she stared deeply into his. Those cloudy grey eyes seemed to fill with the same emotions he had first seen in them. Sadness and compassion, with that hint of horror that had completely dominated them beforehand.

Before Vito could think up an answer to reply with, the Professor intervened.

"I think that would be a topic better discussed tomorrow. It is late, and our guest needs to rest, seeing as how he has had a very energetic few days." As soon as the words were in the air, Vito felt fatigue and weariness hit him with the force of a two-hundred pound barbell. His bad shoulder felt like it was on fire, and that same fire was spreading to numerous the scars all over his body. His knees collapsed and hit the floor, resounding with a soft thud. Before his face smashed into the floor, someone grabbed his chest and pulled it back. Vito grimaced inwardly. He couldn't believe that he was being this weak. In front of these… mutants, no less! His rescuers, the people who had saved him from _them_, and as far as he could tell, his only kin.

He would not black out, he would not show weakness, and he would not…

Too late.

The last thing he remembered was his vision clouding over, just like Anna's eyes.

* * *

**_I'm tired, do you guys feel tired? This took a while, mostly because I'm not good at writing dialogue. That and the fact that school decided to drop five different tests on me. But I get two weeks of Spring Break, so it makes up for it. I wonder if you guys actually read this stuff... Ya know, the Author's Notes. Tell you what. If you're reading this, the first one to write in a review that you have seen this sentence, I'll put you in the story. Yeah, I will! Yeah, I'm serious. Say what you want to be called and powers though, 'cause I don't want a person creeping in my house and hurtin' me in my sleep. Not something I'd like to try out._**


	4. Chapter 4: Late-Night Surprise

_Chapter Four: Late-Night __Surprise_

Anna Marie was seriously starting to wonder if she had been cursed. She already felt that she had been before, with her mutation coursing throughout her body and threatening anyone who so much as brushed up against her with a trip to the hospital. This however, was something on a whole new level. It was as if that God, Lady Luck, or whatever deity existed out in the meta-physical realm was currently turning a blind eye towards her. She didn't like it.

In school her grades were slipping. At the mansion she was quickly becoming an outcast, and in the Danger Room everyone was freaked out by her presence and her powers. It was really starting to get annoying.

As a result of current events, she had seen to it to visit the school work-out room with increasing frequency. Nobody ever went there anymore, which was perfectly explainable. The moronic, grade-A air-head jocks had started to go over Duncan the Dumb-ass' house, and everyone else never went there anyways; mainly because the jocks had been the rulers of the incredibly sweat-filled roost for a very long while. They were the only ones who had ever occupied it in the first place, beating anyone up who thought otherwise. So the only logical solutions were that nobody realized they didn't work out there anymore, or they did and they were just too lazy to get stronger.

Anna Marie was a Rogue.

She was the Rogue.

She wanted to be stronger. Hell, she needed to be stronger. To be anything else was weakness. And the Rogue was NOT weak.

So the Rogue became stronger, faster, and altogether became more and more cut off. It was necessary.

Besides, what if she was rejected? What if she was thrown out like a wet rag, cast away like some disease-ridden monster?

_"Not that I'm not already…"_ She thought grimly.

If that ever happened, if that fear decided to come into reality, she would need to be strong. Strength needed to be her ally. She needed strength for a lot of things. To fight battles, to fight against her ever-rising anger at people, and to combat her own fears and horrors.

The Rogue wasn't a fool. Anna wasn't a fool. She had heard from numerous people, both young and old, that fear wasn't real. That fear was just a product of her imagination. That it was just a manifestation of false things that could hinder her judgment, and eventually conquer her.

Lies. All of it was just a sack of horseshit.

Fear helped you. It was fear that gave you that last bit of strength to push forward, that burst of speed that was always needed in a fight. Fear was an infallible source of adrenaline. Granted, if left unchecked it could take someone over and turn them into a paranoia-filled waste of skin, but if you were strong you were able to beat it back.

Anna Marie was the Rogue. She knew the ins and outs of combat, and she was smart enough to spot weaknesses that she could easily exploit. She didn't always have to rely on flashy powers, or some high-tech weapons. She was strong naturally and would keep getting stronger. She could beat back fear.

Or so she thought.

* * *

_14 Hours Before The Rescue_

_"Left, right, sweep, jump, kick. Left, right, sweep, jump, kick. Left, right, sweep…"_

Anna moved through her sequences without pause for the third time today. It might get tedious to someone who had no idea what they were supposed to be doing, but to a trained body and mind these constant motions would become memorized, and become muscle memory. In a real life situation - or even on the Danger Room - these would be essential.

Especially in the Danger Room. She was put into dangerous situations there on purpose, to prepare her.

Oh, they prepared her alright. They prepared her for the real world, when her 'teammates' would abandon her during some major catastrophe and leave her to fend for herself, just like they always did when they were paired with her.

Part of her wanted not to be harsh on them. After all, it was only natural. Everyone has a natural fight-or-flight instinct, and around her, theirs probably screamed something along the lines of, "Run! Or you'll feel the worst sensation of you life in the next few seconds!"

Which was, in all likelihood, very possible.

"Left, right, sweep, jump, kick. Left, right, sweep, jump, kick. Left, right, sweep…"Anna continued her regime with renewed vigor, determined to get stronger.

"Not bad," called out a cheeky voice from the doorway. "I have no idea what not good would be, mind you. But still, not bad."

Anna stopped in mid-jab. Alright, so maybe there was one person that didn't make her feel like she was an outsider. She composed herself then walked over to a metal bench, where a towel and water bottle lied waiting patiently for her. Wiping herself mostly clean of sweat and taking a swig of water, she turned and headed over to the work-out room doors with a small smile forming on her lips.

A boy of about fifteen years old was leaning against the doorframe with an impish grin plastered on his face. He was built with a body like a runner, not like a heavy-set weight-lifter, which seemed to fit him just fine. The skin that he had was light-colored, with hints of blue veins sticking out from various parts of his arms, giving the appearance that he could hold his own against a good few people if the need arose. His face was soft and looked like it was made of Play-Dough, with ice-blue eyes that seemed to reflect sunlight off of them.

But his hair made her wonder. It was an excruciatingly pale blonde, almost whiter than the intended color. Anna always contemplated if it was natural or dyed, because it sure looked a lot like the latter. It was cut in such a way that the bangs and the sides were swept to the left, giving the impression that the kid flipped it constantly. Anna had never seen him do that, though.

"Done lookin' at my hair, Ann-Ann?" Came the flippant remark from the teen.

"Stop callin' me that, Ryan! I told you I don't like that name, yet you call me it all the time!" Anna tried to put some frustration into her words, maybe a little bit of annoyance, but she found it too difficult.

Ryan was too much of a kid brother for her to be mad at him, and he always made her feel good in some way. He was like the awesome little brother that she never had. It worked out perfectly too, because Ryan had told her that she was like the annoying older sister he had always wanted. They had turned out to be a pretty good pair in crime. So to speak.

"Soooo… how's the ninja training goin', Danielson?" Said Ryan with a mock bow.

"Shut up, boy. You were supposed to help me with it today, remember? Or did you forget?" Anna replied with a huff of annoyance. This kid always blew stuff off.

"Hey, I had to finish a test in science. Not my fault I suck… wait, actually… it kind of is."

Anna gave a short bark of laughter at that comment. She ruffled the shorter boy's hair with her free hand.

"Well I'm done in here for the day, I'm goin' back to the mansion to listen to music 'til I fall asleep. See 'ya later, Ry."

Ryan gave a fake gasp of surprise.

"You mean you're going to leave me all alone in a smelly, sweaty, dirt-hole of a work-out place? I can't believe you would do that to me! Oh the horror, the insanity of it all!" Drawing out the scene, he gave a slight moan and pretended to swoon. He fell gracefully on the ground, spread out dramatically like some great Shakespearean actor.

Anna gave a small snort, and stepped over his would-be corpse.

"See 'ya, Ry!" She called out from behind her shoulder.

Ryan gave a gurgle in response. Chuckling softly to herself, she jogged to the exit and walked out into the late-afternoon sun.

It wasn't that long of a walk back to the mansion, which was good. It still wouldn't have hurt to grab a ride from someone, but then again, that probably wouldn't have been a very good idea. It wasn't like Anna got along with others very well, after all. Sure she could talk to people, ask questions and give answers was easy like that. But talking just for the sake of talking, she could never get the hang of that. She couldn't understand how or why girls talked about the things they did, whether it be shoes, music, or boys. She shivered at that last one, even there was no coldness in sun-filled afternoon.

Boys. With the exception of Ryan, there was nobody that ever ventured out of there comfort zone long enough to try and talk to her.

Besides, even if any did, they would always end up freaking out and bolting once they so much as touched a piece of her skin. They would stand stock still, with their mouth open in a soundless scream. Once they stopped touching her, they would fall to the ground and convulse slightly. Then they would get control of their senses and run away in terror, thinking a demon was near or something.

Anna was baffled by some of the stories that had been made up in the past. Some of the most intriguing included (but were not limited to): heart attacks, breathing problems, possession by spirits, and fairy attacks.

Those last two made her laugh and feel sad at the same time. The guys felt so delirious and out of it from touching her that they came up with some of the stupidest stories ever.

Anna didn't like her mutation one bit, but that was the way the cookie crumbled for her.

All of the mutants she knew always told her to be proud of what she was. To hold her head up high and act like a queen. It was always the same thing.

"Don't feel down on yourself, you're special." That one was Jean.

"You are something great, something amazing. You're meant for greatness" Those words came from the Professor.

"Humans never recognize greatness when they see it." Mystique.

And of course, she couldn't forget Logan's contribution.

"Don't think too much about it. They don't like you? Meh. That's their problem, not yours."

Logan was probably the best role-model that she knew. He never preached about equality or dominance, he just said that you should look out for yourself and not care about others' thoughts about your appearance, personality, or traits. He spoke not from deference to a particular side, but from experience.

That was something Anna could get behind. She understood the concepts of being indifferent to other people's thoughts about her. The one thing she couldn't do, however, was take them to heart. It wasn't fair to her. To Anna, it always seemed like Logan was an expert at being nonchalant. There was nothing that fazed him.

Someone threatening him? He wouldn't break a sweat.

The end of the world? No problem.

That mutant was the pinnacle of I-don't-give-a-rat's-ass. Sure, he could be a nice guy and be caring towards those who needed help, but otherwise he just didn't care.

She rounded the last bend, and soon came up upon the Institute. The familiar sight gave her a little reprieve from her depressing thoughts, which was a small relief. It wasn't like she hated it there. She actually liked it there. The mansion held many hiding places, some so secret that no one save the Professor knew about them.

Walking up to the gate, she stood there for a second before a small buzzing sounded. Swinging open on well-oiled gears, the entrance to the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters opened up, allowing access to the pale mutant.

The grounds were, she had to admit, very beautiful today. A beautiful sun was just beginning to dip out into the west, creating a gorgeous palette of colors.. The grass was a lovely deep green, with the occasional flower sticking up here and there from the ground. The trees were swaying lightly from the whispers of the wind as they went by. Everything was picture perfect, the epitome of peaceful. Birds chirped softly in the tops of the rustling trees, filling the air with sounds of music. Not a single soul was walking outside to ruin the moment by talking, which made the tranquility that much more tranquil.

Drinking up the scenery around her, Anna walked up the gravel driveway and up to the glass doors that were the entrance. Closing the doors behind her with a small click, she walked into the foyer with light footsteps, hoping that her presence would go unnoticed by the inhabitants.

It was harder than one would imagine. Trying to go incognito in a house full of super-powered individuals wasn't exactly… _easy_. Anna pictured it something like trying to move through one of those Rube Goldberg cause-and-effect machines: if you even so much as touch one thing, it would set off another, and another, until everything was set off, and making a continuous stream of noise.

All of her thoughts focused on staying silent, Anna moved lithely throughout the building with the grace of... well, a Rogue. Silence was an easily grasped concept with Anna, seeing as she had been practicing getting out of the limelight for quite a while now. Just walk by, keep your head down when people walk by, and don't answer when people ask you things.

She turned one more corner and found her objective. The girl's dormitory, with her's closed and locked up like a bank vault. Anna hadn't told anyone, but she had found ways less obvious than deadbolts to lock her room.

First, there's the classic chair under the doorknob.

Another was the clasp on the inside, where only she knew where it was to be able to unhook it.

The possibilities were limitless, and while some of them were childish contraptions, they still held a certainty of success.

And Anna? If any one of them would be able to give her a few more minutes of peace and quiet before Jean, Scott or Logan would be able to get the door open was fine by her.

Unlocking the entrance to her room, she gave the doorknob a slight jiggle and was greeted with a loud _THUMP_ from the other end. Opening the door slowly, she walked in ever so quietly and closed it back up, putting the chair that was resting up against the door back in its proper place.

Finished with locking up her own little version of Fort Knox, Anna walked over to her bed and flopped down with a sigh.

Peace and quiet at last. No more distractions, no more noisy humans, no more-

**CRACK-_THOOM!_**_  
_

Anna's brain worked on autopilot.

As soon as the sound reached her ears, she had crunched up her form into a Chinese push-up and sprung into the air. Twisting herself, she spun he body until she landed on the ground in a crouched position, with on hand on the ground and the other thrust out for balance.

Her head swiveled back and forth, looking around for the source of the noise. Turning to the window, she did a double-take to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.

Off in the distance, there was a swirling maelstrom of energy reaching into the sky. Anna watched with fascination as the whirling energy encapsulated itself into a beautiful beam of bright white-blue light that struck upwards and into the clouds. Getting up from her position, her body moved of its own free will, pushing herself over to the window to get a (somewhat) closer view.

It was... alluring.

Otherworldly.

And Anna was one-hundred and ten percent certain that what she was looking at was perhaps the most enrapturing thing she had ever seen.

She was so taken by the display in the distance, that Anna was barely aware of Scott crashing in her door, and looked behind her and regarded the broken entrance before taking in Scott's appearance. He was in his battle suit, visor on and holding a bag full of clothes.

Her battle suit, more specifically.

"Rogue, come on! The Professor just called something, and by the look he gave me, we need to go. Now." Scott looked visibly worried, which was probably very hard to do considering that he had a machine that took up the entire upper-half of his face, effectively covering his features.

Rogue, still gathering her wits about her, shook her head slightly to clear her thoughts and asked a profound intellectual question.

"Uh... what?"

Scott hesitated for a second, then grabbed her hand before hurrying out into the hallway and into the elevator across the hall.

"Just... Ah, screw it. Come on!"

* * *

_15 Minutes Before T__he Rescue_

Anna was sitting in the X-Jet with her arms crossed in front of her, waiting for action.

The Professor had told them that they were to go into the city and find a mutant. She snorted at that.

They were supposed to find one mutant. In an entire city that could very well house hundreds of mutants within the city limits. Anna was far from a tracking expert, but she was pretty sure that they should have more info that that before you start a search (and possible rescue, from the tone that the Jean had used) mission.

Scott had chosen to go, and brought along Jean, Ororo, Kitty, and Kurt. The furry demon-mutant had been a little nervous at Anna's joining them, but after a little persuasion from the three women and a playful threat from Kitty, he came along grudgingly.

They had been flying around the city for quite some time now, and it was starting to get a little more than boring. It was god-awful dullness.

Looking at the roof of the plane, she complained with a childish tone to Ororo, "Are we there yet?"

Ororo smiled lightly at her and gave a shake of her head, before putting a finger to her lips and pointing up front to Scott and Jean, who were concentrating on the radar panel while flying in circles around the darkening city below them.

Kurt had tried to strike up a casual conversation with her before, but stopped as he caught the exasperated and annoyed look that he was receiving. Right now, Anna was starting to yearn for his ceaseless talking, as she had been bored out of her skull for the past several hours.

She was just about to give a shot at starting up her own conversation with Kitty when a _ping-ping_ sound could be heard from the cockpit. Jean took over at the controls, and Scott got up and headed for the exit ramp that was opening and offering quite the interesting view.

A small figure was rooftop-jumping, and was doing a damn fine job of it. As they followed his movements though, Anna saw that the person's movements were becoming more and more labored. The figure looked up sharply, and saw a larger gap up ahead of him, much bigger than the rest. Skidding to a stop, the character did a one-eighty and looked straight at... was that a _ninja_? The two locked gazes for a moment, and the man started to brandish something resembling a nightstick with electricity zapping off of it. The person backed up slowly, before doing something that made all mutants present gasp in surprise.

The ninja took a small step forward, and the other man jumped backwards off of the ledge.

It was a pretty good jump, but Anna could tell that it wouldn't be enough. His body contorted while he was in midair, but whether from pain or just plain bad luck, Anna couldn't tell. The man was now in a freefall from an eleven-story building headed straight for the cement below.

The next sound that was heard - faint as it was inside the aircraft - was the all-too-recognizable _CRACK_ of bone being broken or dislocated. Given the sound produced though, Anna was inclined to believe the former.

Ororo looked away, unable to look at the scene's results that had just played out below. Kitty held a hand up to her mouth and stared wide eyed, while Kurt winced lightly and said something in German. Even Anna had to admit, the fact that they could hear it from where they were in the air meant that the fall that the person had just taken wasn't the prettiest landing in the world. At the best, maybe he would have a broken shoulder. At the worst, a completely shattered shoulder-bone with a good chance of multiple fractures on bones throughout his entire body.

Scott growled, an uncharacteristic sound coming from him. Anna had seen Logan growl before, but that was Logan. That guy was just plain animalistic, so it was normal to hear the sound come from him. But Scott... he had never looked as angry as he was right now.

"Rogue!" Scott barked, his tone fierce and commanding. "You're up. With me."

Anna nodded. "Gotcha." She looked back at Jean, who regarded the appearance that Scott had taken on, then lowered the X-Jet to the ground.

Scott and Anna ran out of the craft, and looked into the alleyway that the person had fallen into. The ninja-man was slowly advancing on the huddled figure of the man, who had curled up against a trash-dumpster alongside the opposite wall.

Scott let out a yell then charged, turning a gear on the side of his visor then letting loose a torrent of energy from it straight into the chest of the assailant, blasting him backward. Anna bolted forward and grabbed Scott with an ungloved hand on his neck quickly before removing her hand just as fast. Feeling her body and eyes well up with power, she fired off a beam of her own before watching Scott make a dash for the ninja, who had his weapon poised at Scott and ready to intercept him. Anna figured Scott would be able to hold his ground, and fired off one more beam before running to the side of the figure curled up against the trash bin.

What she saw was beyond words.

* * *

A boy.

A teen.

A kid her age was filled with scars all over his body, and a disgusting wound on his arm which looked like it had lost all blood inside it. His shoulder was bent and broken, with even more blood seeping out from a point where the bone poked through.

He was wearing a skin-tight electric blue shirt that was damp with sweat, and crusted over in some places with old gory wounds that were stuck to his skin. He wore no shoes, and his feet was filled with numerous blisters, cuts, and bruises that were too many to count.

In other words, the sight before her was horrifying.

"Ororo! Kurt! Anybody, get over here NOW!" Anna screamed. She looked back at the boy, and tried her best to stop the bleeding that encased him.

"Oh, God... oh my God." Her thoughts were racing around her head at a good million miles an hour.

"It's okay, everything's going to be fine," she whispered to the now-shaking teen. "You're safe now, everything's going to be all right now." Anna cooed, trying to soothe the boy in front of her. She had never done anything like this before, never before had she have to help anybody.

But she was sure as hell going to help this kid, even if it was the last thing she did.

Anna looked at the teen's face, and met his eyes for a brief second. She caught a glance of entrancing cerulean, azure eyes, right before they clouded over and eyelids took them captive.

Kurt appeared in a puff of smoke, along with Jean and Ororo. The women were speechless at what greeted their arrival. They took in the boy's appearance, and a sob could be heard from Jean. Ororo looked like her knees would give way, but she stood back up tall after that brief moment.

"Kurt, help me pick him up and get him to the ship. Jean, grab on to Kurt." Ororo commanded. Kurt nodded assent with Jean, and the three along with their patient, vanished leaving nothing behind but a small cloud of blue.

Anna stood up slowly, and looked down the alley where Scott was emerging. He held up a small bit of fabric in his hand.

"He got away."

Enough was said. The two walked back to the Jet, neither one saying a word.

* * *

_Present Day:_

Anna sat in her room, thinking over the events that had taken place over two nights ago.

She had just seen the teen they had rescued, and exchanged a brief dialogue. Although he was out of his room for however long he had been, he was still a long way off from being healed completely.

The boy - Vito - was going to make it though, she was sure of it. Her worries were for nothing, but she couldn't stop worrying. Things played over and over in her head, events that had taken place the night of the rescue.

One thing however, was on replay in her mind continuously.

She had touched him back in the alley.

With her ungloved hand.

And nothing had happened.

* * *

**_DUN-DUN-DUUUUUUUUHHHHHH!_**

**_Congrats to some unknown user known as Ryan Taight. The lucky bastard is going to be a big part of this story now. Soooooooo... yeah. It's about 11:40, and I'm going to bed. Sorry for not uploading in a while, but that was mainly due to weird family shit. Here's a bone. I honestly don't care about reviews and all that jazz, but some constructive criticism would be appreciated. I wrote CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM , not something like "I HATE EVERYTHING YOU DO!" That shit-ship won't sail with me, and I don't take kindly to people that are rude just for the sake of rude.)_  
**


	5. Chapter 5: A Shot in the Morning

_Chapter Five: A Shot in the... Morning_

To say that bad dreams are the worst things to a recuperating body would be a humongous understatement.

All throughout the night, Vito had nothing but nightmare after nightmare plaguing his mind, like a parasite with an insatiable appetite. Only the parasite was the one calling the shots, and it wasn't giving him a moment's peace.

At least when he was in his box he never had dreams like this. The images in his head were so vivid that he could've sworn that he had just relived every terrible experience he had ever faced in his brief life.

All of the sneers that had been directed towards him he saw a second time. The countless instances that men in white coats would randomly shout out in frustration and send a searing pain throughout his body he re-lived over again. Numerous times when _they_ would open the box and cut him open, and he was able to feel his insides being moved and touched by poking and prodding hands... their touch had been felt over and over throughout the night. It was unbearable.

Waking with a hoarse shout, Vito bolted upright from his small version of hell... and felt the painful consequences of that action almost immediately. Clutching a hand to the side of his hurt and injured shoulder, he staggered out of his bed as fast as he could, headed for the tall curtains that had been drawn to keep the darkness in. Vito decided that he had just about enough with darkness.

Walking like a drunk over to the closed shades, Vito half-crawled and half-dragged his battered, scarred and bruised form around from his landing spot on the floor over to his objective. Throwing the curtains open wide, he closed his eyes as the room was engulfed in a beautiful golden light. Taking in the warmth that the sun was giving him, Vito slowly peered out through his eyelids into the morning light. Never had he been so happy to open his eyes and see light - real, natural sunlight - pouring in through large windows. He looked upwards at the simple Victorian-style ceiling and let out a huge sigh.

He was... safe.

_"For the moment..."_ Came a dark thought from the back of his mind. Vito shook his head in wonder. Where were these thoughts coming from? These... survival instincts.

And how did he know how to make sure to cloak his brain from that... _telepath_? He was doing all of these things, some quite impossible, and yet they came ever so easily to him.

Thinking back, he realized that nearly all of his actions had been done without thinking. The fight to escape back _there_, the narrow miss of the net, the roof incident, and when he had been ready to turn those three mutants that had simply walked through the door into a trio of one-thousand kilowatt lightbulbs.

Which, thinking back to that incident, Vito decided wasn't exactly the greatest thank you to the super-powered people that had saved him from certain imprisonment and horrific tortures.

_Torture..._ All of the warmth that he was feeling vanished in a millisecond. Vito grabbed his head and shook it violently, trying to rid himself of the terrible thoughts.

"Bad thoughts, bad thoughts! Don't-think-about-it-don't-think-about-it-don't-th ink-about-it..." Vito rambled on on and on, slowly being taken over by his own memories and brought down kneeling to the floor. His vision turned to multicolored stars, and his head pounded like a twenty-foot drum.

He almost didn't recognize someone shouting his name into his ear until his face was grabbed and pulled upwards.

**CRACKLE_-SNAP!_**

Lashing out violently, his electrified fist lashed out and connected with the stomach of his attacker. A deep grunt reached his ears, along with a small _thump_ of someone hitting the floor.

Looking up with blurry eyesight, Vito focused and looked at his would-be assailant.

"Ouch." Scott squeaked out.

* * *

Scott Summers prided himself of being simple.

For a mutant, that is.

All that he wanted was the right to walk down the street without getting snickers at his (apparently weird) red shades, have a girlfriend who loved him (he preferred Jean, but he was always top deathly afraid to tell her) hanging on his arm, and to be able to help anybody that he could without failing them in some way.

And currently, two of those three things couldn't be any farther from his reach. He wasn't getting any sideways laughter at his shades from passersby, but he also didn't have a girlfriend by is side and there was a victim of some twisted terror/horror film come to life who appeared without a name and past life, and there was nothing Scott could do to help him.

Other mutants out there he had been able to help before, and some of them personally came up to him and thanked him for said help. But this new boy, this "living power source" - as the Professor had so eloquently put it yesterday - was merging into Death's lane and there was not a single think Scott was able to do about it.

He was currently sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands as he tried to shake out of his stupor. Last night had been excruciating.

The new teen - Vito - looked like he was made of glass and would shatter at any given moment. Sure the kid looked a little okay from the outside (save for all of the hideous scars that crisscrossed his body of course), but his eyes and expressions contained things that a eighteen year-old should never hold. He looked for all the world like an old man getting ready to die, but filled with nothing but sorrow as though his life had been filled with nothing but sorrow and regret.

Listening to the Professor tell about the thoughts and memories that he had been able to scrounge from the boy was a ghost story all in itself.

The boy had been:

**_A)_** From a laboratory (Charles couldn't locate where, but they had to be somewhere nearby seeing that he had originally been located somewhere near the city).

**_B)_** Cut open and dissected (Jean had started to sob uncontrollably at hearing that).

**_C)_** Beaten and bruised from numerous sources (Hank had discovered that the sources included {but weren't limited to} burns both from fire and acids, gunshots from every caliber imaginable, and numerous slashings from blades and... other objects).

**_D)_** And on top of all that, he was almost completely driven to the point of insanity (and death, by the state he was in currently).

Scott ruffled a hand through his hair with a sigh. When did life and all things related have to be so... devilish sometimes? Life was more black and white than ever now, as if both sides had decided that now was the time to draw lines in the sand.

Determination welled up in him. If this kid needed help and good and evil were so clearly defined, then he was going to do the best he could with helping this new-found victim.

Scott bolted upright from his place where he had been sitting. He made his way over to his door when he suddenly stopped and turned around, remembering a crucial detail.

"Pants... I'll probably need pants, won't I?"

Throwing on a pair of sweat jeans and a white tee-shirt, he set out to the room that had been set up for Vito. He reached for the knob, but stopped as he heard something coming from inside.

"-Think-about-it-don't-think-about-it-don't-think- about-it!" The strained voice seemed to grow softer and loose the fire in its tone.

Scott started suddenly.

The voice was Vito's.

He opened the door at speeds that would've made Pietro jealous, and rushed over to the teen who was crouched down in front of the window. Not knowing what to do, he gasped the boy's face with both hands and looked at his face that was contorting from pain.

Vito's eyelids snapped open, revealing glowing blue orbs of energy where his eyes should have been.

_"Uh-oh..."_ was the only thought that came to Scott's mind.

The next thing he felt was the force of a sledgehammer hitting his stomach. Flying backwards, Scott landed on his back, with a smoking patch rising up from his torso.

"Ouch," he said with a squeak.

* * *

Vito felt like a rock.

Which is needless to say, big, useless, and a space occupier. That coupled with the fact that he just shot one of the people that rescued him... right now he felt that he just wanted to hide from everything. Maybe he could find a nice dark hole and just... sleep... sleep...

_"NO! You just shot someone, and he's probably hurt! 'Fess up, and make sure he isn't seriously hurt!"_ Vito's conscience was screaming at him at mind-blowing decibel levels. Forcing his tired body to move, he heaved himself upright, and stumbled over to Scott, who was sitting up with a hand to his stomach.

"Ow. That felt... energizing." Scott remarked with a small chuckle. Vito helped the shocked man up, apologizing all the while.

"I'm so sorry, I'm really sorry! It was a reflex, I didn't-" Scott cut the boy off.

"It's okay, I'm fine." Scott got up and rubbed the singed area gently. "I"m guessing you don't like being touched, huh?"

Vito looked at the floor, downcast. Scott noticed his reaction.

"Dude, seriously. It's FINE. I've taken a lot worse than a low-watt charge to the chest." Scott winced slightly. "But it still stings."

Vito looked at Scott with confusion on his features.

"Really? You're okay with me hurting you? You aren't going to get angry at all? No getting mad and trying to attack back?"

Scott shook his head. "Nah, man. I told you, stop fussin' over me. You sound like Jean..." Then Scott realized something with a start.

"Hey, your voice is back to normal! I mean, you're not stuttering like you were last night at all.."

Vito blanched for a moment, and tilted his head like a puzzled puppy. "Yeah... you're right."

Scott beamed at him. "I guess you were just finding your voice back there then, eh?"

"I guess. I haven't exactly spoken in..." Vito stopped short, seemingly lost in his thoughts. "I... can't remember."

Starting up a question about how he had been able to speak and understand German, Scott killed the words before they escaped his mouth. The look on the boy's face was... unfathomable. His features made him look a lot older than he was made out to be, as if he had seen things that would make most normal people question humanity altogether.

Disheartened, Scott looked around for something to drive the current conversation in another direction. His eyes fell upon a long rectangular mirror resting on a nearby wall. Staring hard at the playback image, he laughed for a moment causing Vito to gaze into the reflection as well, before joining Scott in a small bout of laughter. The sight was just too funny.

Both males were hunched over, cradling wounds both mending and current. That coupled with the fact that it was nearly seven o'clock in the morning and both of them were bleary-eyed from sleep made the pair look like they had just arrived from a war front. Scott's shirt was still smoking, Vito's arm was dangling lifelessly at his side, and they were both almost completely out of breath, panting like a pair of Saint-Bernards.

To put their description bluntly, they both looked like hell had run them over with a two-ton semi-truck.

Out of breath and laughter, Scott patted out the rest of the smoke from his shirt and gestured to the door.

"Hungry much?" He asked.

"Famished." Came Vito's deadpanned reply.

Scott smiled. This kid was going to be just fine. Using each other as support, the two made for a sorry sight as they made their way out of the room and down the hall.

"So," started Scott. "You like scrambled eggs?"

* * *

**_Yeah... so I haven't really been able to update in a while. Sorry, it's just with school and lacrosse pushing down harder than an out-of-control nutcracker I haven't had the time of day (or night) to update. Plus I corrected a little bit of last chapter. I've gotten more than a couple of PMs telling me to explain Vito's power and the whole Anna-touching-him-and-not-killing-him thing, but that's later. And just to clear things up, This is about the time after Rogue officially joined the X-men and the institution. Sorry for the small update, but I'm in School and I'm supposed to be writing a thesis paper right now and I thought I should get this out to you. _**

**_I'l hopefully have another chapter out by next week or somewhere around there. If not I'm probably dead. Or just late in uploading. Or dead. Either one. _**

**_See ya._**


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